


Touchdown in Overtime

by seaisrisingtomeetus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, As is tradition, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Enemies and Lovers, F/M, Kink Discovery, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, a dash of degradation yknow just a smidge a splash for ~flavor~, because again stiles knows how to treat a lady, because stiles knows what hes doing, captain of the football team stiles, cheer captain allison, hes also a soft dom again but a lil less soft this time, i would say undertones but lets be real its OVERtones, inasmuch as they can be in an au this fucking tame, its not hate sex but its hate sex!, they're seniors tho no underage shit in here no SIR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28438560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaisrisingtomeetus/pseuds/seaisrisingtomeetus
Summary: So anyway that's how Allison finds herself being fucked within an inch of her life in the girl's locker room after hours.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 117





	Touchdown in Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> yall can thank a whole bottle of prosecco split between two people and thirsty kpop videos for this one lads
> 
> title courtesy of my lovely beta, who offered it up and then had to explain to me what it meant

"This is the girl's locker room." Allison says archly, not looking up from her things. 

Stilinski hums next to her, his arm resting on the locker to the left of hers while he leans into her space. 

"That's a shame." He says lowly and Allison  _ hates  _ the way it skates over her nerves. "Seems I got lost." 

Allison doesn't have a response to that because it's stupid, and a shitty line, and it’s fucking  _ annoying.  _ But she's done packing up her things and has literally no excuse for still staring at her packed bag. 

"I'd really appreciate some…  _ directions."  _ He says, and the way he says it is so suggestive she can't help but laugh. 

"Oh I bet you would." She says and it's the exact opening she'd been looking for. She pulls her packed duffel from the locker and hoists it over her shoulder, pompoms jostling loudly with the motion. 

"You wanna give 'em, Argent?" He asks, rolling to lean his back against the locker after Allison shuts her own. And the way he says her name, like a  _ taunt-- _ fuck, no, like a  _ dare-- _ has her toes curling in her sneakers. 

"No." She says decisively. She looks up at Stilinski then, for the first time. 

His hair's wet.  _ Of course it's wet,  _ he just got done with practice, he just showered.  _ She  _ just showered, her own damp hair is drying down her back, but  _ his.  _ His is curling over his forehead in a way she's never seen before. The revelation that Stiles Stilinski apparently has naturally curly hair is kind of…

No.  _ No.  _ It's not  _ kind of  _ anything  _ at all.  _ She has homework to do, college applications to finish, routines to plan and even if she  _ didn’t,  _ Stilinski is a shit head who thinks oh so fucking highly of himself and she refuses to stoop so low. 

He’s studying her, his eyes tracking over her face, and she fights not to squirm under the weight of them. She should turn around and fucking  _ leave.  _

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” He asks softly and Allison just furrows her brows at him. Then he  _ grins.  _ “You don’t wanna  _ give  _ directions, you wanna take ‘em.” He touches his tongue to one of his canines while his eyes sweep over her whole body, over the tiny athletic shorts and the tight tank top and the slight flush her skin is still sporting from the shower. 

She scoffs at him then, rolling her eyes. “Goodnight Stilinski.” She says pointedly, because they’re the only two people still left in the  _ school  _ this late, let alone the locker rooms. They’re captains, and she knows he takes his role as seriously as she does her own--hence the school being empty and them still being in it--loathe as she is to admit it. It would all be so much easier if he was some dumbass meathead, but he isn’t. 

Allison turns to leave and Stilinski’s hand snaps out to encircle her wrist, the hold loose and easy to slip if she wants to. 

It would be easy, to just pull her wrist from his grip and go home--simple, even. 

“What, Stilinski?” She asks. She doesn’t look back at him. 

“You know no one does a back handspring like you do?” He asks softly, stepping into her space again, almost pressing his front flush against her back and  _ she doesn’t step away.  _ “No one moves like you do. For a second it looks like the ground comes up to meet you, like it  _ bends  _ for you."

Allison’s breath catches in her throat as her fingers flex on the strap of her bag. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen you do it? Watched you flip and spin and shit? Sometimes you don’t even need to touch the  _ ground,  _ what is that even called?” 

“Backflip full twist.” She replies automatically, her voice more breathless than it has any right to be and she mentally urges herself to fucking  _ leave.  _ To go home and forget whatever the hell this is and continue to ignore the tension between them; she already has plenty of practice.

Stilinski huffs a laugh, his breath ghosting over the still-slightly-damp skin of her shoulder and Allison shivers. 

“It’s so fucking hot, Allison.” He says, his lips almost brushing the shell of her ear--Jesus, when did he get so close?--and her breath leaves her in a rush. 

The fingers around her wrist trail up her forearm slowly, the only sound in the locker room her harsh breathing, Jesus how did this  _ happen?  _ His fingers stop at her elbow and he takes them away. She has only a moment to feel a flash of disappointment that decidedly  _ should  _ be relief before it appears on her waist, his other hand reaching up to join it. 

She freezes, and he must notice. 

“Relax, Allison.” He says in her ear again, so fucking  _ close,  _ and Allison _ \--fuck her  _ but she  _ does.  _

“That’s better.” He turns his head to press a kiss to the side of her head and her hands ball into fists. 

She needs to leave. She needs to go and forget about this, forget about the way she can always  _ feel  _ his eyes on her like a physical thing when they’re practicing, the way he grins like he knows something she doesn’t. Shit, like he knows she’ll give in if he makes a move. 

Allison wants to say something, is desperately searching for something to say--preferably a refusal because she's making this  _ far  _ too easy for him--but all she comes up with is  _ get on with it  _ and  _ are we gonna fuck or not  _ and  _ I’ve been waiting for this for  _ months, all of which are not even remotely viable options. 

“What do you want from me?” She asks softly, almost whispers it and Stilinski--fuck,  _ Stiles-- _ hums, like he’s thinking about it. 

“Well, for one thing, I’d really like to fuck you in the girl's locker room.” He breathes, and his tone could almost be casual but for the way his head dips to press feather-light kisses on the skin of her neck. “Give it to you so good you remember it every time you walk in.” His kisses turn open mouthed and  _ hot  _ and Allison is fucking  _ shaking.  _ He lifts the strap of her bag up enough to slide it off her shoulder, letting it drop to the floor with a muted  _ thump.  _ “And I wanna make you come, Allison.” 

Allison gasps. Horrifyingly. She really can’t help it. 

He chuckles. “Mmm, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Has anyone ever made you come before?” It's almost  _ conversational. _

She can’t even  _ think  _ right now, he’s so fucking  _ warm  _ and his teeth are scraping against her skin and she feels a little lightheaded. 

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He murmurs and the nickname should sound derogatory, should make her  _ furious  _ but the way he says it is so genuine, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it at all, so what it does is send a shudder ripping up her spine so fast it almost  _ hurts.  _

“No.” She whispers and he huffs another laugh. 

“I just wanna make sure I understand,” he says, the hands on her waist that she’d almost forgotten about moving to pull her completely into him and his body is so fucking  _ warm.  _ "You’re telling me that no one’s ever made you come before? Not once?” 

Allison flushes  _ hot.  _ She shakes her head, unable to manage any more than that. 

Stiles  _ groans.  _ Allison bites her lip  _ hard,  _ her hands flexing at her sides. __

_ “Please,  _ Allison,” he begs and her knees feel weak, “god, please let me make you come.” 

She should tell him no. She should pull away and pick up her duffel and fucking  _ go home  _ but she can't. She doesn't  _ want to.  _ She’s only human. 

Allison whimpers and nods and Stiles spins her around in his grip and seals his lips over hers in a hot, mind-melting kiss. Her hands come up to his shoulders--his very  _ wide,  _ very  _ solid  _ shoulders--and her fingers dig into the muscle there. He’s just so fucking  _ maddeningly  _ good at this; his tongue swipes over her bottom lip and then meets hers easily and he tastes like mint and his  _ hands  _ are all over her. One spans the entirety of the small of her back _ \--holy shit-- _ and the other reaches down to grab a handful of her ass and squeeze and honestly she hadn’t known that that could be hot but  _ Christ,  _ it really is. 

When she has to break away to breathe he goes back to her neck, licking and kissing but he doesn’t leave any marks. She almost wants to tell him he should, but she has a competition this weekend and she  _ really  _ can’t show up with hickeys. And the fact that he knows not to is… something. Infuriating, probably. 

But  _ god,  _ his mouth is  _ heavenly.  _

“What do you want, baby? What can I do to you?” He asks, leaning back enough to look at her head on and it hits her then that she’s actually doing this. 

She’s  _ actually  _ making out with Stiles Stilinski in the girl’s locker room after hours.  _ What the fuck.  _ And she isn’t going to stop either. And she’s definitely about to let him do whatever the fuck he wants to her. Jesus, she might even  _ beg  _ for it, how mortifying. 

But it sure as shit doesn’t  _ feel _ mortifying when he cups her face and swipes his thumb over her cheek bone and waits for her answer, his eyes dark and liquidy and fixed entirely on her.

“I--” She croaks, “I don’t--I don’t know, I need, I need--” She breaks off on a gasp when his other hand comes around from her back to her stomach, his fingers teasing at the sliver of skin between her shorts and her tank top. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? Need me to take you apart with my fingers?” He asks, his voice low and dark while his eyes are just looking into hers and somehow that’s more intimate than the way his tongue had been on the other side of her teeth a minute ago. “You wanna come on my tongue? I’ll make it so good for you, baby.” He promises and at this point, she really doesn’t doubt that he will. 

_ “Please.”  _ Is all she can manage and he smiles a charming, lopsided kind of smile and god, she kind of fucking gets the appeal. She kind of gets why the girls on her team are always watching him at practice, fanning themselves theatrically when he lifts his jersey to wipe sweat from his forehead. Maybe she gets why they mockingly swoon into each other after practice, talking about  _ have you  _ seen  _ the way his hands wrap around a football, are you even  _ looking,  _ Allison?  _

Well, she's looking now, and yeah, she gets the fucking appeal. And maybe she gets a rush of petty satisfaction to know that she's the one he's doing this with, not them. 

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad.” He tells her and she moans, completely unable to help herself, and he rolls his hips until she can feel the very obvious, very  _ insistent  _ proof of his desire to do just that and she really isn’t about to tell him not to. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Please, please _ \--fuck--”  _ she gets cut off by his fingers sliding over the material of her shorts before pressing against her and she moans on a breathy exhale. 

“I will,” he promises and his fingers curl a little bit and it’s so fucking  _ good  _ but it’s not even  _ remotely  _ enough. “I will, Allison,  _ fuck _ and you’ll take it so good, won’t you?” 

No one’s ever said anything like that to her before, so she’s utterly  _ shocked  _ when she shudders so hard her knees wobble and his other arm curls around her back to hold her up, the fingers pressed against her still curling over her and making her clench her fists in his shirt. 

Stiles' grin looks positively fucking  _ wolfish.  _

“Oh you  _ like  _ that, don’t you baby?” He asks unnecessarily and it’s absolutely rhetorical but she nods dumbly anyways, her cheeks flaming. “You wanna be good for me, huh? Wanna take my cock like you were made for it?” 

Allison eyelashes flutter, her breath coming in pants, and she can't do  _ anything  _ but crush the fabric of his shirt in her fists and pull him closer and Stiles just groans before shoving his hand under her shorts and her underwear until his fingers are sliding over her with embarrassing ease. 

“Oh you’re  _ soaked,”  _ he moans, “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna ruin me.” He says it almost to himself, and Allison just nods because he’s already  _ ruining her.  _

His fingers are working over her with surprising dexterity despite the constriction of her clothes but it's  _ not enough  _ and she whines and pushes against his arm. 

"What do you want me to do first, Allison?" He asks, his lips right up against hers, skimming against them with every word and it makes her shiver. "Anything you want, baby, anything, it's yours."

And it's an overwhelming concept, that she has him at her beck and call, that he'll do anything to make her come _ \--Jesus,  _ she genuinely thinks he can--and she honestly doesn't know how to answer. 

"I don't care,  _ fuck, Stiles."  _ She gasps as his fingers brush against her clit and he groans. 

"Holy fuck, Allison." He breathes and she huffs a breathless,  _ helpless  _ little laugh. "Okay, okay," he says to himself, like he's trying to prepare himself and it's--actually really endearing.  _ Shit.  _ "I wanna eat you out,  _ god,  _ wanna know what you taste like." 

"Shit." She gasps and he grins at her. "Fuck, okay, yeah, yes,  _ please."  _ She agrees, still overwhelmed but, god, she has to know if he's as good as he says he is. 

And then Stiles is guiding her to lean against the nearest locker, the grates on the door digging uncomfortably into her shoulder but she can't find it within herself to care. 

And then he's  _ dropping to his knees,  _ holy fucking _ Christ,  _ taking her shorts with him, and it has her shaking in anticipation and maybe a little bit of nerves, but she  _ wants.  _

"Gonna give it to you so good, baby, gonna  _ wreck  _ you." He promises and the moan that rips out of her is almost  _ hoarse  _ with its intensity. He grins up at her before leaning in, hiking one of her legs up over his shoulder, and his breath skates against her slick skin.  _ Jesus,  _ she feels lightheaded.

_ "Stiles."  _ Allison begs, and he huffs a laugh before leaning all the way in and the breath gets punched out of her. 

_ Oh holy god  _ he's good at that, his tongue teasing at her folds rather than going straight for the clit like others have done before, giving her time to warm up even if it's probably unnecessary. The consideration of it, though, has her inexplicably  _ trembling. _

And then he's circling her clit, teasing, testing, reading her reactions to see what works best for her and  _ holy fuck  _ how experienced it he? He varies the pressure and the speed and the way his tongue moves and she can't do anything but moan, as unhelpful as that is. 

But he seems to be no worse off despite her lack of participation, finding a rhythm that has her  _ devastated,  _ his tongue flattening over her clit and moving with the motion of his head, grinding against her, and he looks up at her. The look in his eyes is completely blissed out, and she feels her breath hitch at that.  _ Fuck, is he getting off on this?  _

His fingers nudge at her entrance and he raises a questioning brow. 

_ God that's so hot,  _ she thinks before nodding enthusiastically. 

He slips two inside of her  _ easily,  _ her body opening up to him like he was  _ made  _ to be there. 

No, like she was made to  _ take him,  _ and that thought has warmth rushing up her chest and into her face, and she can only gasp with the force of it. What the fuck is  _ wrong  _ with her? 

Stiles' tongue and his fingers find a rhythm and her orgasm is building in record time.  _ Oh my god,  _ she thinks, _ I might not live through this.  _

_ La petite mort  _ has never felt more applicable. 

"Stiles, Stiles,  _ Stiles."  _ She babbles, maybe warning him, maybe just needing something to say, and her hand flies to his hair, threads through the wet, curling strands and his eyes roll back into his head. "I'm gonna _ \--ha-- _ gonna come,  _ holy shit, fuckfuckfuck  _ 'm gonna come." 

He makes an encouraging hum, looking up at her, _watching her_ and Allison throws her head back, her back arching, her fingers tightening in his hair as she fucking comes harder than she ever has in her _life._

She's definitely making noise, moaning and crying out with the shocks of pleasure buzzing through her while he works her through it, but she can't even hear it.

Allison tugs on his hair gently to get him to pull off when it becomes too much. 

_ "Allison,  _ oh my  _ god,"  _ Stiles breathes, resting his forehead against her hip bone and she can't do anything but pant in a fruitless effort to get her breath back, the leg supporting her shaking with the effort.  _ "Please  _ say I can fuck you,  _ god,  _ I wanna feel you come again." 

And he's already  _ more  _ than proven himself and she would love almost nothing more than to receive another absolutely mind blowing orgasm, so naturally she says, "Yes, god,  _ please."  _

He groans as he stands, her leg dropping from his shoulder as he goes, and he doesn't waste much time pulling his shirt off, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pulling them down just enough to pull himself out. He pauses before reaching back and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and rifling through it with shaking hands. He makes a stupid, fucking  _ charming  _ little victory noise when he pulls out a condom and she gives a fucked-out laugh. He grins at her--even has the audacity to  _ wink.  _ He drops his wallet carelessly and dips in to kiss her. 

He rips the packaging and rolls it on quickly. He breaks away from her lips to say, "Wrap her arms around my neck." 

She does as he says but it doesn't prepare her for the way he  _ lifts her off the ground. _ She squeaks as her legs come up to cling to his body of their own accord, on instinct, and he huffs a laugh. 

"I've got you, sweetheart," he breathes against her lips before lining himself up and pushing in slowly. 

She throws her head back and  _ moans.  _

_ "Fuck,  _ you're so tight baby." He says softly into the crook of her neck, "Feels so fucking good, Allison." And it's fucking  _ perfect,  _ the way he fills her up, the way he pauses to let her adjust, but she just wants  _ more.  _

Sue her. 

She gets what little purchase she can against the locker behind her, the grate driving harder into her skin, to roll her hips against him. She smirks when he gives a punched out little noise. 

Stiles' eyes meet hers and he watches her face as he fucks into her sharply once, his lips curling into a grin when she gasps with it. He does it again, his hips snapping against hers and this time she moans. 

He keeps up that pace slow but  _ hard  _ and chuckles breathlessly. "Is this what you wanted baby? Wanted me to fuck you like this? Make you a fucking  _ mess  _ for me?" 

It shouldn't be sexy. It should piss her off. It should make her blood fucking  _ boil,  _ but it doesn't. 

It makes her moan, makes her eyes roll back into her head, makes her tighten around him, and he hisses a curse under his breath. 

"I fucking  _ knew it,"  _ he murmurs, still looking at her, still  _ watching her  _ react as he speeds up his thrusts, "I knew you were nasty." And he's out of breath now from how fucking hard he's fucking her but he doesn't stop, "Knew you'd take my cock so  _ well,  _ you love this don't you?" 

And Allison… Allison wants to hate it, but she  _ doesn't.  _

She whimpers, not entirely sure if she's agreeing or not, but he grins. 

"You  _ do,  _ baby, you like it when I talk to you like this, don't you?" He rumbles while he just keeps  _ fucking her,  _ "Love the way I'm fucking you right now,  _ god,  _ you're kind of a slut, Argent." He says it like he's surprised and delighted, like Christmas came fucking early. 

And her jaw just drops even as a weak little moan escapes her and he  _ laughs,  _ low and dark and it makes everything that much more intense, makes her feel hot all over.

_ Jesus,  _ is she really getting off on him  _ laughing  _ at her? Who the fuck is she? 

"Tell me, baby, tell me you like it." He requests, almost  _ gently,  _ "Tell me how much of a slut you are."

And she just shakes her head, her lips still parted in shock, because she can't possibly  _ admit  _ to it. It's one thing to visibly be getting off on it--which is bad enough on its own--and entirely another to  _ say  _ she is. 

But he stops then, his hips pressed against hers and doing  _ nothing  _ and his hands are gripping hers so tight it might bruise, keeping her in place, and it's fucking  _ devastating.  _

Allison whines in protest but he just smiles, just brushes an errant curl back from her face, discordantly gentle, and he's  _ winded  _ from holding her up and fucking her within an inch of her life but he doesn't seem to care much about it. 

"You gotta say it baby." He purrs, "Tell me, Allison." He says it so  _ low,  _ so  _ coaxing. _

And later she'll chalk it up to horny desperation, to all the blood leaving her brain completely to travel south, but she complies. 

"I--I like it." She whispers. 

"You like what?" He goads and if she had any energy  _ at all  _ she'd scowl at him. 

"I like when you t-talk to me." She stutters as he starts shifting his hips like a reward. 

"Mhm," he hums, "and what else, baby? What are you?"

_ Oh god he's really gonna make me say it,  _ she thinks in something like a panic and she goes to shake her head again but one of his hands comes up to grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger. But she barely even notices it because it means he's holding her up with _ one fucking hand.  _

And that, right there, just blasts all rational thought out of her head. 

"I-I'm a slut." She breathes and then she cries out as he fucks her again, as he keeps pounding into her until the metal grate of the locker behind her is digging cruelly into her shoulder blades. But she's too far gone to care. 

His head dips to sucks marks onto the skin of her chest, placing them just beneath where the hem of her uniform would be. 

"You really fucking are." He breathes against her skin.

"Bastard." Allison gasps and Stiles chuckles breathlessly. 

"I don't have to make you come." He reminds her and she huffs--well, it's really more like her breath gets punched out of her with a particularly well placed thrust. 

"I could get myself off." She says, not at all confident he'll  _ let  _ her _ \--what the fuck-- _ but maybe hoping that he'll take over the responsibility if she goads him into it. 

"Yeah." He says dismissively, "But you won't."

And he's fucking right, too. She might be  _ able  _ to, but the feeling of  _ him  _ doing it, the way he'd so expertly taken her apart;  _ that's _ what she wants. 

She doesn't give him the victory of agreeing with him, but she can tell by the smug look on his face that he already knows she does. 

But she's successful in getting him to get the fuck on with it. One of his hands moves from her ass to her stomach, his thumb skating over her clit and she can't help the way she  _ groans  _ at that. 

"You gonna come for me again, Allison?" He murmurs against her lips. "You gonna come on my cock like a good little slut?" 

Allison moans loudly, the sound followed by a hot rush of  _ shame  _ at how utterly desperate and  _ debauched  _ the sound is. 

Who even  _ is _ she right now?

But she just nods, the heat coiling low in her belly a familiar precursor and she  _ really fucking is _ going to come on his cock. 

And, fuck, he'll have earned it too. 

"Please, please, _please,_ _Stiles."_ Allison _whines._

"Fuck, I love the way you say my name baby." He breathes, his thumb pressing down harder and with a whole hell of a lot more intent than before. "Come for me, sweetheart, I wanna see it,  _ fuck,  _ you're so gorgeous when you come."

And it's the way his voice sounds  _ reverent  _ right now, the way his thumb is working against her, the way he's still fucking her with abandon that sends her over.

She comes with a cry, shaking violently with it, her toes curling so hard they cramp, her vision whiting out as she squeezes her eyes shut. It lasts longer than it ever has and she's panting with it, her fingernails scraping across the skin of his shoulders.

He follows quickly after, thank god, because she knows she wouldn't be able to handle more after the utterly  _ earth shattering  _ orgasms she's already had. His hips stutter against hers and she moans weakly. 

They stay like that for a few moments, panting and shuddering with after shocks, basking in the afterglow. 

He very slowly pulls out and gently unwinds her legs from his hips, supporting her as her knees give out. He leans against her, holding her up with his hip as he pulls the condom off and ties it off. He tosses it on top of her discarded shorts to deal with in a moment and she only gets out a mumbled protest about it. 

Then his hands are running up and down the outsides of her thighs, laying kisses against her hairline. 

"Fuck, that was so good Allison, you were so good." He mumbles against her head. Her arms are still looped over his shoulders and she pulls him against her further, tucks her face into his shoulder. "So good for me." He murmurs and she shivers. "You okay?" 

She hums. "Yeah." Her voice is barely even a  _ whisper.  _

He lets out a breath, in contentment or relief she can't say, and moves a hand up to her waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles along her ribs. 

"How're you feeling?" He asks and at first she thinks it's the same question before realizing he means  _ physically _ how is she doing, right now; is she recovered, does she still need to be held up, etc. 

"Okay, I think." She murmurs. He backs up slowly, hands still fastened to her waist if she needs them. When she manages to stay up on her own, his hold on her lessens. He doesn't let go completely though, in fact he reels her in to rest against his chest. 

"Let me take you home." Stiles requests and she snorts. 

"Little late for that, I think." She says and he huffs a laugh against the side of her face. 

_ "I meant,  _ let me make sure you get home okay." He clarifies and it's… 

It's really sweet, actually. 

"I'm okay." Allison promises, "And I need my car." 

"I can't leave you alone right now." He says and she leans back to frown at him. "That was intense. I have to make sure you come down okay." 

"Come down?" 

He rolls his eyes. 

"Do you know how many endorphins are saturating your brain right now? The amount of oxytocin you're swimming in? Sure, it feels good now, but if you don't come down right, you'll drop." He says, "Trust me, you don't wanna experience it." 

"How do you know so much about this?" 

"It's my responsibility to know that kind of thing if I'm gonna fuck someone like that, don't you think?" He points out with a raised brow and she has to hand it to him. He has a point. 

"Okay." She sighs her surrender. "I'll tell my parents I'm staying with Lydia or Erica or something. You better make sure I get to school on time tomorrow, though." She threatens and he chuckles. 

"It's a deal." He agrees. 

And maybe it's because he just fucked her brains out or maybe because he did so and then made sure she was okay afterwards or even just the way he's acting now, calm and collected but far from smug like he'd been when this whole thing started, but she lets him take her home. 

And, later, if she  _ happens  _ to press her fingers against the hickeys covering her chest and the lines of bruises on her back from where the locker had pressed into her shoulders, admiring every sore muscle and tender spot, and _hopes,_ privately, that they'll get the chance to do this again--maybe in a real bed next time--that's nobody's business but her own. 

**Author's Note:**

> i also have another ao3 account where i post sfw stuff, you're welcome to check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectrawaves/pseuds/spectrawaves)


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